Her First Fever

The rain tapped steadily against the windows as the sky over Sydney turned a murky grey. The air was colder than usual, and a quiet stillness settled over the house. Alice sat curled in a blanket on the living room couch, her tiny body unusually still, her cheeks tinged with an unhealthy flush.

Elvin knew something was wrong the moment he saw her. She hadn't come to greet him at the door when he returned from training—something she never missed. Her laughter, usually the first thing to echo through the house, was replaced by silence.

He walked over and knelt beside the couch. "Alice?"

Her eyelids fluttered open. "El…vin…"

He placed the back of his hand on her forehead. Hot. Too hot.

"Alice, you have a fever," he said calmly, though his heart had already lurched.

"I feel… funny," she murmured. Her voice was raspy, barely audible.

Chris appeared from the kitchen, munching on an apple. "She's been quiet since lunch," he said, a hint of worry creeping into his voice as he noticed Elvin's furrowed brow.

Elvin stood up at once. "Call Dr. Henson. Tell him we need a house visit. Now."

Chris nodded and disappeared down the hallway with his phone.

Elvin gently scooped Alice into his arms. She instinctively clung to his shirt, her small fists clutching the fabric weakly. Her face pressed into the crook of his neck, and he could feel her burning up.

He carried her to her room and laid her down carefully on the bed, pulling the blankets around her. She shivered, curling up, her lips trembling.

"I'll be right here," he said, brushing her damp bangs away from her face. "Just rest."

"Don't leave…" she whispered.

His throat tightened. "Never."

Chris returned moments later. "Henson's on his way. Twenty minutes."

Elvin nodded. "Bring me cold water and a towel."

Within minutes, he had a damp cloth folded on Alice's forehead, gently wiping her cheeks every few seconds. Her breathing was shallow, and tiny whimpers escaped her lips when she tried to speak.

"Elvin… am I dying?" she asked suddenly, her wide eyes glazed.

He froze.

That sentence—so innocent, so fragile—stabbed him straight in the heart.

"No," he said firmly, clasping her hand in his. "You're just sick. You'll be better soon."

"But Mama and Papa were sick too," she whispered.

His heart sank.

"They didn't wake up…"

He gently pulled her into his lap, her head resting against his chest. "You're not them, Alice. You're strong. You're going to fight through this."

She didn't reply, but he felt the silent tears soaking through his shirt.

Chris stood at the doorway, eyes dim with guilt. "I didn't know it was this bad."

"You wouldn't," Elvin said softly. "She hides pain. Like I do."

The doctor arrived not long after, and Elvin watched closely as he checked her vitals, prescribed medication, and gave reassurance. "It's a viral fever. Nothing too alarming, but she needs rest, fluids, and constant monitoring. The next 24 hours are critical."

"I'll watch her," Elvin said without hesitation.

As night fell, Alice's fever spiked. She thrashed a little in her sleep, muttering incoherently. Elvin stayed by her side, dabbing her face, whispering soft comforts. He didn't leave her room even once.

At around midnight, she opened her eyes slightly. Her voice was hoarse, her words slurred. But what she said made time stop.

"Papa…"

Elvin stiffened.

Alice's eyes were distant, lost in a fever dream. "Don't leave me, Papa…"

It was the first time she'd called him that. And even though it wasn't intentional—even though she was delirious—something in his heart cracked.

He hadn't raised her to be his daughter. But he had raised her.

Through nightmares. Through innocence. Through grief and loneliness.

And at that moment, he realized… he had become her everything.

"Shh," he whispered, hugging her gently. "I'm here. I'll always be here, Princess."

That night, he didn't sleep. His large hand never left her tiny one, even once.

In the morning, the fever broke.

Her breathing calmed.

And as sunlight filtered through the curtains, Alice slowly blinked her eyes open. She looked at Elvin beside her, his eyes bloodshot from fatigue, his hand still wrapped around hers.

"I had a dream," she said weakly.

"What was it?" he asked.

"You were holding me. Just like this."

Elvin smiled faintly. "Then it wasn't a dream."

Her smile was soft—exhausted, but safe.

And in that silence, no words were needed.

Because now, their bond wasn't just of bloodlines or duty.

It was of quiet, unconditional love.